


500 Words: 11. Alleviate

by Fire_Sign



Series: 500 Words [5]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, mid-3x08 insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:45:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5799346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alleviate<br/>verb</p>
<p>    1.to make easier to endure; lessen; mitigate<br/>--------------</p>
<p>Mid 3x08 insert, with cocoa and fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	500 Words: 11. Alleviate

 

> #### Alleviate
> 
> /əˈli viˌeɪt/  
>  _verb_
> 
> 1.to make easier to endure; lessen; mitigate

* * *

She had foregone all but a single glass of champagne to ensure she would be sharp enough for her early morning flight. As the small wedding reception died down, she sighed as she wandered from room to room. In the smaller parlour she spied Jack at the piano, the last guest; he’d tinkle out a few notes quietly then drop his hands back into his lap.

Dear, dear Jack. She wasn’t sure how it had all gone so wrong.

No. She knew _exactly_ how it had all gone so wrong. She’d let her bloody bastard of a father rattle her and had retreated to old habits to deal with it. It was embarrassing.  She was stronger than that, smarter than that. And once this mess was sorted, she’d handle it properly.

Until then, there was the well-worn solace of flirtation and banter. She pushed off of the doorframe and went into the room; without looking up, Jack moved along the piano bench to make room for her.

“What made you realise I was there?” she asked, watching him in profile as she took her seat.

His lips quirked. “Nobody can miss you, Phryne.”

“I should hope not!” she exclaimed in mock horror.

He chuckled, still reading the sheet music he had not been playing. Phryne reached up and played a few bars, brushing her arm against his body. She had made so many excuses to touch him recently, but it seemed unfair to ask it of him tonight.

“Dot would be making cocoa right about now,” Phryne said, almost wistfully.

She was so happy for her friend. She was. But it would be a bittersweet change, and she would not even be here to see it.

“Mr. Butler?” he asked.

“Sent him off to bed. He’ll need to be up even earlier than I am, and manage my father as well.”

He nodded.

“Did you want some?” he asked.

_I want you_ , she thought; facing weeks in the air with her father, she couldn’t even find it in herself to be annoyed by the sentimentality.

“I’m not sure I could even remember how to make it,” she replied with a laugh.

He chuckled in response, a deep, quiet sound she could feel inside her.

“All those warm milks and Zane Greys had their uses,” he said, looking at her directly for the first time. His eyes were warm, and not nearly as pained as she would have expected.

“Then yes. Please. I would like that very much.”

They stood in near tandem and headed towards the kitchen. Once there, he removed his suit jacket and laid it across the back of a chair, placing his cufflinks in a pocket and rolling up his sleeves. The contrast of his tanned forearms against the snowy white of his shirt was enough to drive her mad. Watching him move confidently around her kitchen, getting a saucepan of milk simmering and laying out mugs, she wondered how she’d resisted for this long.

“Why haven’t you asked me to stay?” she asked, watching him stir the milk. She hadn’t realised how much it had bothered her until the words were out of her mouth. “Everyone else has.”

He gave the pan contents another whisk before turning to meet her gaze.

“Because…” he seemed to be considering his words carefully. “Because  if there was something I had to do—even if it was risky, even if it was foolhardy and pigheaded—” he ignored her look of consternation. “Even if it was investigating a case I’d been taken off of for political reasons, what would you do?”

_I’d move heaven and earth to help you._

“I’d investigate.”

“Precisely, Miss Fisher,” he said, raising the wooden spoon in his hand to punctuate the point. “And I cannot compel the weather to be favourable or provide you with contacts along the way, but I can trust in you.”

Satisfied with the cocoa, he removed the saucepan from the range and brought it over to the table where the mugs were waiting. Unable to sit still for another moment, Phryne stood and brushed past him to retrieve a tin of biscuits.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Every time, Phryne.”

She sipped her cocoa—It was better than Dot’s, though she’d never tell her friend—and watched Jack’s face.

“You seem certain there will be another time.”

It was, perhaps, the first time she had given voice to her doubts about this endeavour. If she’d had time to plan it properly it would be another matter, but she had not; there was a fine line between adventurous and reckless, and she wasn’t entirely certain whether she had fallen on the right side. He just smiled and took another biscuit.

“There’s always another time, if you’re willing to take it.”

She moved closer, intending to make a quip about his sudden optimism, but caught his eyes, smouldering with all the things left unsaid, and exhaled loudly. She hadn’t thought it possible to want him more, but she’d been wrong.  

“Are you willing to take it?” she sighed. She was not accustomed to being left breathless in her encounters, but he seemed equally gone at least.

Phryne felt his hand on her waist, the slight shift of his body to face her fully, his other hand trailing up her arm and along her neck to cup her head. She saw none of it; she was too spellbound by the look on his face as he finally, _finally_ lowered his mouth to hers.

———

They were woken in the morning by Mr. Butler’s firm knock and his voice informing her there was coffee. When she opened the door a minute later to retrieve the tray, there were two cups and Jack’s jacket neatly folded.

As they dressed, they stole kisses—light, happy brushes of their lips that brimmed with unsaid promises—and laughed and teased.

“ _We’ll figure it out when you come home_ ,” he had said the night before, just before they drifted off.

She had chuckled sleepily in response and told him she would insist on ravishing him properly when she did, but rest was more important for now if she wanted to keep the plane in the air.

The night was enough to alleviate their sorrow, but facing the reality of their parting they borrowed what lightness they could.

“I have to get to the station,” he groaned when she kissed him with real intent.

“I have to get to London,” she replied, pulling away. “But I’ll be home soon.”

He grinned broadly in response, transforming his entire expression into one of joy. Then, giving a final brush of his gentle fingers over the swallow brooch on her scarf, he was gone.

She left soon after, eating a quick breakfast before saying her goodbyes and heading to the airfield. Her plane out of the hangar, she performed her pre-flight checks and explained how to make start the propeller to her strenuously objecting father. The small amount of luggage was stored, maps were re-examined, and it was time to take off.

“Ready, Father?” she asked.

“No,” objected Henry Fisher. “We're going to die!”

“There's no point getting upset in the air. Very unforgiving element,” she said curtly, then tapped the body of the plane. “Contact.”

Her father spun the propeller.

“Get in,” she directed him.

He complied, and Phryne was securing her flight goggles when she saw movement in the distance. As it moved closer, she recognised the car and felt herself smile. She breathed out, whispering the only thought that mattered in that moment.

“Jack.”


End file.
